


World Enough and Time

by twistedchick



Category: Venetia - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M, Propriety, Relatives, Romance, Scandal, dining-room table, interruptions, perfect butler, proposal, unexpected animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all has been said and done, can Damerel finally manage to propose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Enough and Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginarycircus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarycircus/gifts).



The door to the dining room swung shut on well-oiled hinges.

"And now, my love, for the _fourth_ time…" Damerel's arm tightened around Venetia's shoulders as he spoke. It felt so good to have her there, to touch her and inhale the fragrance of her weather-dampened hair. At last he could say the words that had choked in his throat for so long.

"Yes." Venetia beamed at him.

Damerel paused and leaned back slightly to peer down at her. "My dear delight, I haven't asked you yet."

A gurgle of laughter escaped from her. "Yes, stoopid."

"Are you so sure that you know what I was going to say?"

Venetia shook her head slightly. "I've already thrown my cap far over the windmill by coming here instead of to Undershaw, let alone at this hour."

"On the contrary, your Uncle Hendred is keeping us well within respectability for the moment."

"He's keeping you respectable, my dear friend. I, however, must be redeemed because of my wicked parentage." She tilted her head to the side as she smiled at him. "You must realize that your footman is Ribble's nephew, so that word of my coming here will soon reach Undershaw if it has not already."

"I see." He scooped her up in his arms, at which she let out a startled gasp, smothered by her hand an instant later, and set her down to sit on the cleared end of the polished oak dining room table. "Well. Let us do this properly," he said, and went down on one knee, teetering just a little.

Venetia's eyes were round. "Do your ladies all sit on the table? How interesting!"

"Hush, sweetness. They do a great many other things on tables as well, but that is neither here nor there for the moment." Damerel fixed his ironic gaze on her. "I am trying to concentrate; you might help with that, you know."

Venetia folded her hands in her lap. "I suspect the footstool might be useful for you to kneel on. If you must kneel, that is."

"Hush, dearest. I'm trying to be romantic, not practical." He was wobbling, ever so slightly, and reached for the table edge to steady himself. Venetia caught his hands in hers, and he gripped them firmly.

"My dear delight, would you do me the honor –"

A tap on the dining room door interrupted him. "Sir –"

Damerel raised his voice. "Imber, I am busy, please go away." She appeared a little fuzzy at the edges, though her touch felt smooth. It had to be the brandy. "Ahem."

Venetia tried to keep from smiling but could not help a small dimple by her mouth. "You were up to 'do me the honor'," she reminded him.

"My lord –" came from the door. "I am most sorry, my lord, but –"

"JUST A MOMENT." Damerel could not refrain from raising his voice. He turned back to Venetia, who was trying so hard to acquire a serious demeanor, and failing.

"Venetiamylove," Damerel's words were rushed, and he drew another quick breath, "Wouldyoudomethehonorofbecomingmywife?" It was as if he had to get it out or die. His gaze was as steady upon her face as he could make it, and he held his breath, waiting for her reaction. 

"Yes, yes, yes, dear Damerel." Venetia squeezed his hands in return and smiled down at him. He pulled himself to his feet, only using his grip on her as leverage a little bit, and stood very still, his hands in hers. 

"Finally." He leaned down to gather her into his arms and kiss her soundly. She returned his kiss without hesitation, throwing her arms around his neck. He lost his balance slightly, let go of her with one hand and braced himself against the tabletop. It was difficult not to recall other times, and other ladies, and what they had done on that polished oak table with him, but he concentrated on how she tasted, the essential Venetia flavor of her kiss --

A most apologetic tap on the door interrupted him. "My lord –"

Damerel sighed. "Yes?" He nibbled on Venetia's ear, which barely peeped out from under her traveling hat. She giggled.

Imber, his face schooled to impassibility, leaned in from behind the barely open door. His caution was reasonable, Damerel realized; if Venetia had not arrived and he had continued to make indentures in the brandy as he had begun, he would now be at the point of throwing whatever came to hand at whoever interrupted him. 

"You did ask to be notified when Ganges was having her foal, sir."

"Ganges?" Venetia asked. She leaned against Damerel, apparently quite lost to ordinary rules of proper behavior.

The thought that soon neither of them need be proper at all, at least when alone, lit a warm little torch inside him with thoughts of what they would do together… but with a glance at Imber's face, he brought himself back to the present.

"Ganges' grandam India was my first horse as a child; her line has been here at Elliston Priory since my grandfather's time," Damerel told her. "I learned to assist at foaling from my father's farrier, who was known for his wisdom with horses."

His country-bred love blinked and straightened. "She's foaling in late autumn? This far out of season?"

"Yes, indeed, miss," Imber said. "The foal's full-size, in fact a little large. And since his lordship has experience that could be sorely needed …"

Damerel shook himself slightly, pulling himself back to sobriety. He raised her hand to his lips. "I'll be outside for a while, my dear delight. Imber will make you comfortable in the Primrose Suite; it's very pretty, belonged to my mother."

"Oh, no." She slid off the table to stand next to him, her arm around him. "I'm coming with you, Damerel. Don't tell me this is not a sight for ladies; I have been there when my brother's dog had her puppies, so I do know something of what occurs." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't really wish me to take after my mother, do you? I'm certain that she has never ventured into a stable for any purpose in her life."

"All right." Sobriety had come upon him again, his head clearing with the thoughts of Ganges' situation. "What of your clothes?"

They were already moving toward the door as she shook her head. "My dress is crumpled by travel, and stained by something someone must have spilled in the mail coach; if your clothes can be rescued later, so can mine." She accepted her traveling cloak back from Imber as Damerel shrugged his way into a rough tweed he kept for hunting. Imber took up the lantern to guide their way to the loose-box, a broad stall reserved for mares and foals in the warm back of the stable.

Damerel's head groom and the stable boy who was assisting him had no attention to spare for whoever arrived with Damerel; they were concentrating on the bay mare, who was having a very hard time of it. They greeted Damerel's arrival with a concise summary of the mare's situation and with certain relief that he would be able to help. The foal was stuck, and the mare was in great pain.

"Here, let me hold her head," Venetia said, walking into the loose box to stand next to the stableboy. "Go do whatever Damerel tells you." She put one hand on the mare's cheek and the other hand on the curved neck. The mare stood, shivering under a blanket despite its fluffy winter coat, groaning, concentrating on labor, but flickered an ear at Venetia as she began to murmur quietly. 

Damerel went to the rear of the mare, stripping off his coat, waistcoat and dress shirt and rolling up his sleeves. After one grateful thought for her presence, which might help to distract the mare from her pain, he joined the head groom in his attempt to turn the foal's body around as it began to emerge, so that it would no longer be twisted and block its own passage.

It was not too long before the mare sighed and Damerel lowered a slippery bundle to the straw. The mare's head swung around and she licked the foal clean and nudged it to its feet. Venetia stepped back to lean against the rails at the stall door.

Damerel walked over to join her, wiping his arms with a grubby towel the stable boy had offered him. "What do you think of your engagement present, my love?"

Venetia smiled at him. "I think this is the most wonderful present I could have been given, since it cannot be taken back or returned to its source by anyone." Undisturbed by his appearance, she took the towel away from him and attempted to blot the splotches on the knitted undervest that he wore.

"I suspect that," he waved a hand at the area that she was trying to clean,"is irredeemable," he said, giving himself a rueful glance.

"It's a small price to pay for a new life." She wiped her own hands on the towel and passed it back to the stable boy, who tossed it aside. Imber, who had been standing by all this time, holding the lantern to light the area, placed the lantern on a high shelf and stepped forward to assist Damerel in removing the thoroughly ruined undervest, and replacing it with his shirt, waistcoat and heavy coat before he could catch a chill.

Damerel, dressed again, leaned back against the wall next to Venetia.

"What would you call your filly, then?" They watched the new addition to his stable enjoying her first meal. The foal's tail switched merrily. It was, indeed, taller than expected, and its coat glowed a bright red under the lantern light.

"Ruby, I think. Yes, Ruby."

Venetia's voice was soft.

"Appropriate." His lips quirked. "You would rather have a horse than a ring?" 

"Whatever you want to give me, Damerel." 

"Best keep 'er, milord. She's a good 'un," piped up the stable boy, with an eye on the head groom, who then offered his own congratulations in an almost indecipherable brogue.

"I intend to, lad. And my thanks to you both for a good night's work, in saving both of them."

Imber, who had stood by the stall door holding the lantern while all this had been going on, lit their way back to the house, took their outdoor clothes, offered Venetia a pair of felt slippers to replace her begrimed shoes, and suggested that perhaps a cup of tea in the library might be in order to warm them after the chill of outdoors. Damerel shivered and nodded. Venetia smiled and agreed, and steered Damerel toward a small sofa, close to a cheerful fire in the stone fireplace. The room, which was insulated with bookshelves floor to ceiling and whose walls were interrupted by only two narrow windows, was much warmer than the dining room had been, and balmy after the walk from the stable.

"What are you thinking, my dear love?" Venetia tucked her hand in his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I believe my great-aunt Isobel had a ring with a rose diamond in it that should be somewhere upstairs. Imber would know. Would you like that, dear heart?"

Venetia smiled and nodded. "That would be lovely. We could be married as soon as the banns are read, perhaps in three weeks, if you like."

"We can sort that out in the morning, dear delight. I am sure your uncle Hendred will want to speak to my man of business and arrange your settlement." 

She waved a hand. "And then Aunt Hendred will go on about clothes and a trousseau. I think …" she yawned unexpectedly, "I'll think about it tomorrow."

He put an arm around her and she snuggled into his embrace, warm and relaxed. The small flame of joy that had lit inside him at her presence was banked into long-burning, glowing coals, and it made him smile with happiness.

And so Imber found them, when he came in with the tea tray in a few minutes – asleep. He allowed himself a smile far broader than duty might strictly allow, and made sure to clink the tray and the china cups enough to wake them unobtrusively, and to suggest that he could see Miss Venetia to her room for the evening.

"I do wish you both very happy, sir, miss," he told them, "and might I suggest that breakfast be brought to your rooms tomorrow, as I am sure you will not wish to rise early, considering the hour now." 

He poured tea and offered it to them, once they had sat up enough that it would not slop.

Damerel sipped the tea, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"That ring of Isobel Whithaven's, the one with the pink diamond, Imber –"

Imber reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. "I believe this is the one you mean, sir? When I saw Miss Venetia arrive, I made bold to have it ready for you."

"You are a prince of butlers, Imber." Damerel took the ring box with its well-rubbed velvet and offered it to Venetia. It held a ring in which a pink diamond was set as if in a miniature rose, accented by small clear diamonds. "Do you like it?"

Venetia bubbled with laughter. "Only you, my dear Damerel, could find me a ring that reflects how we met."

"So it does, but without the thorns." He slipped it on her finger, where it sat as if it had been made for her. "And now we have _world enough and time_ to enjoy together."

"Yes, no more _coyness_ from either of us." 

And after the tea, they wandered upstairs hand in hand, parted at the top of the stairs with mutual yawns, smiled and went to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to zana16 and wyomingnot for beta reading.
> 
> The title, and the quotes, are from Andrew Marvell's wonderful poem, [To His Coy Mistress](http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/marvell/coy.htm).


End file.
